


Got a little bit longer, I've got a ways to go

by batterwitchofhope



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (Stiles' back scratches from Malia), And the Sheriff owes her twenty bucks, Aromantic Malia, Bisexual Character, Bisexual Scott McCall, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Coming Out, Cuddling, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, God I love that tag, Jealousy, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Melissa McCall is an angel, POV Scott McCall, Scenting, Scott is jealous and doesn't even realize it, Scott's wolf is thirsty and needs 2 chill tf down, Scott-Centric, Stiles Stilinski Has ADHD, Stiles and Malia are friends with benefits, angsty fluff, boys being dumb, jeep makeouts, mentions of injury, teen wolf more like LET STILES SAY FUCK
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 16:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5055886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batterwitchofhope/pseuds/batterwitchofhope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott doesn't realize how colossally he's fucked up until Stiles swerves sharply onto the road shoulder and slams Roscoe into park with a lurch. </p><p>“Wait a minute. Are you jealous?” Stiles asks. </p><p>...</p><p>And then Stiles is murmuring <em>“Fuck it,”</em> and Scott feels something shaky roll down his spine, electric and heavy, and then it's all gangly limbs and the smell of Old Spice because Stiles is scrambling over the gear shift and crashing into Scott's lap, and he knows his hands are cold but he wraps his arms around Scott's neck anyways and kisses the shit out of him, and it's <em>perfect. </em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Got a little bit longer, I've got a ways to go

**Author's Note:**

> for a tumblr prompt, sciles + "wait a minute. are you jealous?"  
> this one's for you, jules!  
> i've been dying to use the jeep makeouts tag for so long lmao. i'm weak and i wanna kiss cute boys in crappy cars  
> title from "Ways To Go" by grouplove.

“-and then on Friday, Lydia's dragging me to the mall after school, and I have an econ paper due for Coach that night, and then on Saturday morning I have shit to do for Deaton. Emissary training stuff or whatever, and then I'll probably ask Malia if she wants to netflix and- dude, what the fuck, seriously?” 

Scott blinks twice as the red blur fades from his vision, and that's when he notices the five claw mark puncture holes in the door of his locker where he'd been holding it. He can sense several people staring at him, and he casts a furtive look over his shoulder. Several boys on the team hurriedly stop staring and look away.

Stiles lowers his voice, leans in closer. “Dude, easy on the werewolf strength. Your locker's gonna fall apart if you keep slamming it shut like that. Seriously, what was that about?”

Scott huffs a sigh, hoisting his gear bag up on one shoulder. “Nothing. Full moon, hard to control.”

Stiles gives him a weird look, cocking one eyebrow. “Full moon was five nights ago, Scotty. Trust me, I know, I'm still feeling Malia's claws. My back's a fucking wreck.”

Scott takes a deep breath, willing away the red at the edges of his vision. He's not sure what exactly brought all this on, but today's been really overwhelming, and he's been wolfing out practically every ten seconds. It's getting old fast. 

He realizes he's scenting the air when he smells a hint of _blood_ and _pain_ , and he can practically feel his eyes flash beneath his lids. Nothing sets him off quicker than sensing that a member of his pack is hurt, it's practically an instinct. It's painful enough having to deal with the sense of pain and discomfort that occasionally comes from Kira or Lydia or Malia, but he's getting better at keeping his mouth shut and remembering which times of the month are not times for questions.

Stiles, on the other hand, doesn't have any excuse for smelling like blood besides a pack fight.

Or Malia. 

Scott barely manages to keep the growl in his throat. 

He opens his eyes, and Stiles is still there, just staring at him. Scott shoulders past him, trying and failing to keep the bitter tone out of his voice. 

“Yeah, no kidding. You smell like you got put through a woodchipper.” 

Scott is halfway out of the locker room before he hears Stiles flailing and running to catch up to him. Stiles cuts him off, blocking the doorway, and Scott sighs, locking his jaw and looking up at the ceiling instead of at his best friend. This isn't a conversation he wants to have. 

“Okay, first of all, Scotty, you need to calm the hell down. I'm fine, okay? She can't help it. Second of all, I-”

Scott cuts him off with a glare, eyebrows raised. “She can't help it? I managed to spend three whole months sleeping with Allison and I never clawed her once, and I was freshly turned. She can help it, and she should know better.”

It's not that Scott doesn't like Malia, because he does, she's pack and he loves her. She's great, he appreciates her. She's a strong fighter and he's glad she's there. And her sex life is none of his business! He could care less who Stiles fucks. He could, honest! 

(And that's all it is. Fucking. Friends with benefits. Stiles isn't dating Malia, he isn't dating anyone, Malia had tried the whole dating thing and quickly figured out that it didn't come naturally to her. There was a word for it, Scott knew, but Malia had never used it around him, so he figured it would be rude to assign a label to her without hearing her input first. But they're not together, Stiles told him that much.)

Scott's just really fucking sick of smelling his soon to be emissary in pain, that's all. It's harsh on his nerves and it fucking _hurts_. 

Stiles gawks, opening his mouth to reply a few times, several expressions passing over his face. Eventually he just blushes, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “Okay, well, whatever, that's not the point, I'm not gonna let you deflect this. You've been weird all day, what the hell is going on?”

Scott sighs in frustration, shoulders slumping. Stiles is unendingly loyal at his best and endearingly persistent at his worst, and Scott knows he's not getting out of here without spilling his guts. He shrugs.

“I don't know, okay? It's been a long day, and my mom doesn't get home until like midnight, and I'm worried about the game next week.” 

Stiles just looks at him, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. Scott sighs, looking away, groaning under his breath. He's a shitty liar and Stiles has known him too long to fall for it anymore. 

“And?”

Scott rolls his eyes. “Dude, come on, do you have to torture everything out of me? Jeez.”

Stiles looks vaguely apologetic, and Scott offers him a little smile to let him known he's not mad. 

“Fine, I'm sorry. I'm just worried that something is going on with you. You keep hulking out on me and it's a little unnverving to say the least. Walk with me?” 

Scott nods, following Stiles out of the locker room and out into the parking lot, and he climbs into shotgun, shoving his gym bag down by his feet as Stiles gets in next to him and shoves his bag into the backseat. 

They're quiet as Stiles navigates out of the parking lot and onto the main road, and Scott stares out the window. He feels vaguely guilty for not telling Stiles what he's so upset about, but the truth is, Scott doesn't even really know what's got him so tense. 

Finally, Stiles breaks the silence with a question, and Scott turns to look at him. 

“I don't need every little detail, but c'mon, man. Talk to me.” There's genuine concern in his voice, let alone the choking waves of uncertainty and worry rolling off of him. He smells beyond sour with anxiety, and Scott makes a mental note to bring that up later, and decides to talk before Stiles implodes. 

He sighs, and he starts talking, and once he's started, Scott can't seem to stop. He just spills everything, worries about his grades, worries about the well being of his pack, worries about Stiles becoming his emissary, worries about debt and family and his mom, how stressed out all of this must make her. 

And Stiles, bless his heart, doesn't interrupt. He doesn't say anything for once, just listens, eyes on the road and his rearview mirror. 

Scott doesn't realize how colossally he's fucked up until Stiles swerves sharply onto the road shoulder and slams Roscoe into park with a lurch. 

Scott looks around. It's dark outside, and they're nowhere near his house. They're on the road halfway between the hospital and the preserve. Stiles must have just sensed that Scott had things to get off his chest and kept on driving, and Scott feels a little spark of fondness inside his chest. 

“Wait a minute. Are you jealous?” Stiles asks, voice wavering a little, voice shaky and surprised.

Scott cocks his head, still lost. That's when it hits him, and his brain finally makes the connection between his thoughts and the stream of consciousness that had been pouring out of his mouth.

_“And on top of all of that, you're so busy all weekend, and I can barely even see you anymore without you talking about Malia or whatever, and that's fine, you do you, whatever, I just get so fucking angry about it sometimes. It's not like I have an issue with her, I don't know how to explain it, just every time I smell her on you or every time you talk about her it just makes me so frustrated, and I don't know why.”_

_Wait a minute, are you jealous?_

Everything falls into place all at once, and Scott immediately feels like he's gonna be sick. He can't make eye contact with Stiles, he just can't, and he tries not to move. Maybe if he's still enough, this situation will somehow go away. 

His hands won't stop shaking.

It's not that Stiles is a boy. That doesn't matter, never has. It's not even the fact that Scott has a crush on Stiles. That's not new either, it's been on the back burner since about sixth grade. It stopped giving him grief somewhere around freshman year, but it never went away. He doesn't even think about it that often. It's just always sort of been _there_ , a comforting and familiar beacon in the back of his mind. 

But Stiles _knows_ now. And that's what's wrong.

Scott takes a deep, shaky breath, looking up, his eyes meeting Stiles', and he thinks for all the world that he must look like he's drowning, because that's how he feels. 

There's something dark and heavy in Stiles' eyes that Scott doesn't recognize, so he inhales a little, concentrates.

Stiles smells the way that being punched in the face feels, and Scott tries not to wince. The combination is confusing and heady, and it takes him a few seconds to sort it out.

There's jealousy, right there at the surface. Want, and longing, and something that smells a little like relief. There's anxiety, but Stiles smells like that all the time, so Scott's used to it. There's a soft note of cautious optimism that smells so much like Allison that it makes Scott's heart hurt. 

The other boy is just watching his face, and Scott can practically see the tension and reservation coiled in his shoulders. 

And for the second time that night, things click. He listens to the way Stiles' heartbeat is racing, and all the loose ends come together, and Scott exhales a soft little breath of a word. 

“Oh.”

Stiles' hand comes up to rest on Scott's shoulder, and he can feel the way it trembles. Scott's gaze traces over his best friend's face, from his bright hazel eyes down to his lips, and he catalogues the slight twitch of a muscle in Stiles' jaw. 

And then Stiles is murmuring _“Fuck it,”_ and Scott feels something shaky roll down his spine, electric and heavy, and then it's all gangly limbs and the smell of Old Spice because Stiles is scrambling over the gear shift and crashing into Scott's lap, and he knows his hands are cold but he wraps his arms around Scott's neck anyways and kisses the shit out of him, and it's _perfect_. 

Kissing Stiles is better than Scott had imagined. He'd anticipated the squirmy, impatient eagerness, but anticipation and experience are different beasts entirely, and having all of that enthusiastic motion turned on him all at once is _dizzying_. Scott discovers within all of five freakin' seconds that when Stiles kisses, it's about what feels _good_. Kissing Stiles is like learning how to kiss all over again. 

At first it's all eager enthusiasm, it's _desperate_ and _yes, please_ and _fucking finally_. It's years of pent up want and longing. The awkwardness sets in after the first couple of kisses, and it's shy, hands gently fumbling over chests and hips, hushed whispers of _“is this okay?”_ and _“that's nice, yeah.”_ Scott feels hot red blooming on his cheeks, but he keeps his eyes shut, doesn't back down; because he doesn't want this to end. Stiles' hair is short but Scott still loves running a hand through it, hearing the way his breath hitches when Scott licks over his lower lip and runs his thumbs over the strip of exposed skin between his shirt and his jeans. Stiles is vocal, and Scott figures that he probably should have expected that given the fact that Stiles can't seem to stop running his mouth in any situation, but hearing _“shit, that's good”_ whispered against his jaw and feeling Stiles gasp _“fuck, scotty,”_ against his mouth winds him tighter, spikes the heat in his veins. Stiles is warm and heavy on his lap, and Scott drags him closer by the hips and licks into his mouth raw and dirty and Stiles moans. Scott just smirks into the kiss and that's when it turns competitive the way that they've always been, urging each other on, a complement of careful checks and balances that always falls apart as soon as there's something on the line. Stiles buries his hands in Scott's hair and _tugs,_ and it makes Scott gasp. Stiles just laughs softly against Scott's parted lips and drops his hands, one curled around the back of Scott's neck and the other gripping his shoulder, possessive in a way that makes his head spin. Scott pulls Stiles down against him tighter and licks over his lips before sucking one into his mouth, and Stiles honest to god _whimpers_ and _grinds down against him,_ so Scott tries sucking and biting at his lower lip and Stiles moans again, low and dirty, before breaking the kiss. He buries his face in Scott's neck and whines something that sound a lot like _“not fair, you bastard,”_ under his breath. 

Scott laughs, and buries his nose in Stiles' hair, just holding him close and resting against him as they catch their breath. Stiles' has the front of Scott's shirt bunched up in his fists and that's actually pretty hot, he muses. He's trembling a little, heated skin and the dizzying smell of want, and Scott sweeps a gentle palm up and down his back, just lightly scenting him and holding him close, listening to the thud of Stiles' heartbeat until it slows to a normal, soft skipping thump in time with his own. 

Stiles sits up in his lap, and Scott looks up at him, and they're both grinning ear to ear. Stiles looks gorgeous like this, lips pink and kiss-bitten, hair an out of place mess and his eyes have that same boyish streak of mischief in them that Scott falls for every time. 

“Dude, you look wrecked,” he murmurs, tracing a thumb over Scott's lower lip, and he laughs a little, reaching up to run a hand through Stiles' hair. 

“So do you, man,” he says, swallowing a little nervously. “You're really loud, 's kinda hot.”

Stiles laughs, idly flipping him off and kissing Scott's forehead. “You think that's loud, just wait until you get me in the sack.” And he says it so assuredly, so softly, that Scott can't help but blush and choke out a sputter, and soon they're both laughing, just looking each other over until the moment dies down and Stiles sighs, still grinning, hauling himself clumsily back over the center console and into the driver's seat. 

Scott's tempted to say wait, don't go, tempted to ask for reassurance, that this wasn't just a one time thing, but Stiles does it for him with a flash of a smirk as he kicks Roscoe back into drive, eyeing his reflection in the rearview. 

“If you can make me look that wrecked with five minutes of kissing, then I'm yours, dude. Goddamn.”

Scott laughs, rolls his eyes, kicks his feet up on the dash. “Please, like you weren't already.”

Stiles just laughs, shrugs, pulls back onto the road. “That's fair. You said your mom gets home at midnight. That means you have four hours to cuddle my clingy ass.”

Scott cracks his knuckles, a reflexive habit, and laughs. “Who says you have to leave when Mom gets home? You're staying over.” The look on Stiles' face is crushingly endearing, even in profile, and Scott's face hurts from smiling so much. 

“Hell yes. Can I borrow some clothes in the morning, because as much as the walk of shame look tempts me, I think wearing your shirts tempts me more.”

Scott laughs, tempted to reach over and ruffle Stiles' hair, but he's driving, that's probably a bad plan. “Of course. I mean, we borrow each other's clothes all the time anyway, but it'll be cuter now.”

Stiles nods, fingtertips drumming against the steering wheel with all the nervous-excited energy thrumming under his skin. “I'm glad you agree, because I am such a fucking sucker for sharing clothes with the people I'm dating.”

When Stiles says “dating,” Scott feels like he flushes all the way to the tips of his ears, and he breathes out a quiet “Holy shit, dating? You want to date me?” 

Stiles nods, shrugs, acts noncommittal, but Scott knows by the smell of embarrassment and eager optimism in the air that the phrase had slipped out by accident, and now he's stressing over it. Scott laughs softly, sets a hand gently on Stiles' knee for just a moment, voice soft with caring. “I want to date you too, dude. If you wanna call it, I'll call it too, right now. Boyfriends.” The word feels like an affirmation of something Scott's known about himself for years, and it feels good and right and he's taken back to the last time a word made him feel that way, and sure, some things have changed since seventh grade, but some things are just the same. 

Stiles grins, biting nervously at his lower lip, trying in vain not to full-on giggle. “Scotty, oh my god, I'm driving, you can't pull that shit when I don't have hands available to cuddle you. Can we tell your mom? I have a feeling that if we tell your mom she'll make us pancakes tomorrow.”

Scott laughs, nodding, rolling his eyes a little. “You're such a nerd. And yeah, we can tell my mom. Tomorrow morning we can call and tell your dad, if you want. Just get everything over with.” As much as he loves sneaking around and getting into trouble with Stiles, the whole point of the matter is that they've never had to, because they're Scott&Stiles and everyone knows they'll get into trouble anyways. 

And when Stiles tosses back an “Okay, Scotty,” Scott knows they're good.

_(Later, when they're curled together in Scott's bed, a matching set of parenthesis under cotton sheets with Scott's hand in Stiles' hair, and Stiles' breath hot on his neck, they'll laugh together. There will be a bag of Doritos on the nightstand, and Stiles will kiss his jaw and tease him, nipping kisses, honest and soft. “You mean we could have been doing this since sixth grade? You dumb motherfucker, I love you to death.” And Scott will laugh, and hold him close in strong arms, and when his best friend traces cold fingertips over his tattoo, Scott will kiss his forehead. They'll hold hands and Scott will say that Stiles' skin looks good in the moonlight, and Stiles will grin heaven and earth and say that Scott practically glows under the sun.)_

_(When Melissa comes home from a dragging ER shift to a blue Jeep in the driveway and a second pair of shoes on the hearth, she'll smile. Both boys will slog downstairs, and Stiles will be wearing borrowed pajamas, and she'll glare at Scott when he drinks orange juice straight out of the carton. Stiles will sit on her kitchen counter, and Scott will hold his hand awkwardly, and they'll tell her. And she'll laugh, and hug them both, and say she loves them and she's proud of them. She'll wish them luck, and make them pancakes, and remind Stiles to take his Adderall before he drives Scott to school.)_

_(And when the Sheriff texts her an hour later with the news and far too many emoji, she'll say he owes her twenty bucks.)_

_(And they will be good.)_

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, i hope you liked it! this came from a list of fifty tumblr prompts and i love them all so i'm considering making this a multichapter series of sciles ficlets based on those. let me know what you think! kudos + comment if you liked this! i'm batterwitchofhope on tumblr, come say hi!


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